


i know the world's a broken bone (melt your headaches, call it home)

by awkwardspiritanimals



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: road trip fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-18 01:38:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2330480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardspiritanimals/pseuds/awkwardspiritanimals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skye has decided that she’s not going to need anyone anymore.</p>
<p>Fitz cries in his sleep and stumbles over words.</p>
<p>A road trip in seven days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i know the world's a broken bone (melt your headaches, call it home)

The code swims in front of her eyes; she’s pretty sure she’s been staring at it for hours now. There’s a soft noise of frustration across the table from her and she looks up to see Fitz, staring down at his hand, trying to force his fingers to curl around a screwdriver enough that he can use it. The tool clatters to the table, and Fitz lets out a long breath, head drooping, eyes closed.

“Okay, enough. Let’s go somewhere,” she says, slamming her laptop shut. A few months ago, she never would have dreamed of doing that. Now it feels so good she almost wants to open the damn thing up and do it a couple more times, but she doesn’t have time.

“What?” Fitz asks, struggling with the word for a moment before he manages to get it out. Simmons doesn’t know if it’s physical or related to the brain damage, his occasional difficulties with speech. Skye can see his frustration in the set of his shoulders.

“Let’s go. You and me. Somewhere.”

“Like, the kitchen?”

She laughs, without humor, “No. Somewhere not here. Somewhere quite possibly far away from here.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere. Anywhere is better. It has to be.”

Fitz turns his head to the side, “What’s that from?”

“What?”

“What you just said. Isn’t it from something?”

She leans forward, resting her weight on her forearms, “If you come with me, I’ll tell you.” Fitz rolls his eyes. “Excellent. I’m going to go talk to Coulson, if he has time for me. You go pack.”

She doesn’t bother waiting to see if he listens.

——————-

Coulson gives them a week; Skye doesn’t really care why he did it, just that he did. She turns towards the desert instead of the ocean, thinking Fitz would probably appreciate that. He’s sitting in the passenger seat, backpack on his lap, head leaning against the window. He hasn’t said a word since they left.

“What did you tell Simmons?” she asks, anything to break the silence. She assumes he talked to her before they left.

Fitz continues to stare straight ahead, shrugging slightly. “I told her you needed me.”

Skye doesn’t say anything. She’s decided that she’s not going to need anyone anymore, but she doesn’t need to tell him that, not right now. She flips on the radio to cut the quiet this time.

——————-

The first two times they stop, Skye returns to the car to find Fitz standing in front of it with the hood up, staring at the engine or poking around in it. The third time, she stands next to him.

“What are you doing?”

He sighs, “Trying to see if I remember all the parts.”

“Do you?”

"No.” He climbs back into the car then, resting his head against the passenger window. It’s become sort of his default position.

The next time they stop, she comes out of the gas station to find him doing the same thing, jaw clenched in frustration. Skye stands next to him and pulls up a wikiHow, asks him the names of different parts, filling in the blanks when he can’t answer. When they get back into the car, he explains combustion engines to her as they drive and she tells him he’s better than any wikiHow.

It earns her the first real smile she’s seen from Fitz in months.

——————-

The radio station they’re listening to is starting to fuzz into static, but neither of them care enough to change it really; it’s mostly just there for noise anyway. Fitz has his head against the window again, staring at the desert as the sun comes up. He speaks for the first time in hours.

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.” She stares ahead. “About Ward. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Doesn’t Fitz understand that he’s paid more than enough for something that she doesn’t even hold against him?

“Skye,” he says, and he’s quiet until she looks over at him, “I’m sorry.”

She realizes that this isn’t really about Ward or the bottom of the ocean or the fact that he had stuttered over her name for a moment as he spoke. This is about them.

“Apology accepted.” It’s what he needs to hear and, she realizes, what she needs to say. Her chest feels looser. Fitz reaches to change the radio station and Skye wonders if there’s a McDonalds anywhere close.

——————-

The third evening, Fitz is driving and the sun is setting and the entire world is red and orange. She finally gets up the courage to say something to him.

"You cry in your sleep.”

She had expected nightmares, after everything he’d gone through. At the base, Simmons sleeps in the room next to her and she’s heard her screaming at night, sobbing Fitz’s name. It’s enough to make a person sick, and it has, and yet somehow Fitz’s silent tears catching the moonlight as he leans against the passenger window are worse.

He doesn’t answer her for a long time, staring at the road in front of them. She’s just about to turn the radio up and forget the whole thing when he finally speaks.

“Sometimes I can’t remember how to save her.” Skye waits for more information, but none is forthcoming.

A couple hours later, they switch spots. She can see Fitz drifting, shaking himself awake whenever his head drops against the window, but finally he stills, arms wrapped around his backpack. It’s a half hour before the tears start, and she makes it maybe two minutes before she pulls over to the side of the road, shaking.

She doesn’t know how to make it better, because he’s caught in his own head and she’s got more than her own fair share of nightmares as well, but she reaches over, pulling one of his hands away from his backpack and squeezing it. He stirs, just slightly, scrubbing at his face before his eyes open, staring at their joined hands.

Fitz looks up at her, biting at his lip, and she refuses to drop his hand. After a few minutes, staring at each other in the dark, he nods, leans his head against the window. She waits until he falls back asleep to guide the car back onto the road.

She’s still holding his hand.

—————-

The fourth afternoon, they’re sitting in front of a gas station in the middle of nowhere. Neither of them want to get back in the car at the moment, taking the opportunity to stretch their legs and soaking in the heat. Skye picks up a rock, tosses it toward a rusty bucket sitting across the parking lot; the rattle of it landing is for some reason extremely satisfying, and she picks another up to do it again.

She’s thrown three when one sails past her, hitting the bucket with a thunk; Fitz is smirking at her when she turns around. They take turns, and Skye finally thinks she’s won when Fitz launches a throw that looks like it might land five feet to the right of the bucket. It connects solidly with the light pole he had apparently been aiming for and rattles into the bucket.

Fitz shrugs when she turns toward him. “Physics,” he says with a smile, and she throws her next rock at him and tries to lock him out of the car when they finally leave.

—————-

“No,” Fitz says, shaking his head, “Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes.”

“We do not need shark tooth friendship necklaces. Why is a gift shop in the middle of the desert even selling shark tooth necklaces? Who even buys shark tooth necklaces?”

“We do,” Skye says, hoping the finality in her voice will settle the matter as she makes her way towards the counter to pay.

Fitz helps her tie hers on, and very carefully keeps his tucked underneath his shirt, but he smiles just as much as he rolls his eyes whenever she brings them up.

That evening, the fifth of their trip, they stop at a diner for dinner and Skye tells the waitress about the necklaces just to see how red Fitz’s face will turn. He orders two whole plates of food and still steals fries from her. She orders a chocolate malt with two straws and tries to get him to sing _Summer Lovin_ ’ with her.

When they leave the diner, the streetlights catch on his necklace, bouncing against his shirt as they walk back to the car.

——————

The sixth night, they finally give in and get a motel room, because they have to drive back to the base tomorrow and neither of them really want to see their teammates for the first time in a week looking like they’ve been living in a car and showering at rest stops, even if it’s true. After their showers, they sit on one of the beds and play Never Have I Ever; they don’t have any alcohol, so they play like kids, sitting cross-legged in front of each other, knees brushing, hands held out palms down with fingers extended.

They ask generic questions and specific questions and slap at each other’s fingers when they think they’re not putting them down fast enough. When Fitz runs out of fingers, Skye collapses backwards on the bed, laughing.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, stretching out next to her. She turns to look at him.

“I can’t believe I just lost Never Have I Ever to such a nerd.”

“Didn’t I lose?” he asks, confused.

“Well, yeah, technically, in the drinking game. But that in this version, it’s like, embarrassing to be the person with fingers left. First person out is like the coolest wild child of the bunch.”

It’s Fitz’s turn to laugh, “I think that’s the first time in my life anyone has used that phrase to describe me.”

“Whatever. Don’t let it go to your head.” She studies him in the dim light of the motel room, decides she misses his curls because the shorter hair makes him look older. So does the stubble, but she doesn’t mind that so much. Skye reaches out one hand to run her fingers down his jaw.

“Stop that,” he whines, swatting at her hand with his. She catches it and twines their fingers together, lets their joined hands drop into the space between them on the bed. It’s quiet for a long time.

“Did you love him?” Fitz asks softly. Past tense.

“Yeah.” Both of them are staring at the ceiling, but he squeezes her hand when she answers. “Do you love her?” Present tense.

“Yeah.” Her fingers tighten around his, returning the favor.

She laughs suddenly. He turns to look at her with wide eyes, and she wishes that she could stop, but it feels so good, because she hasn’t really laughed in months and there was a part of her that thought she might have forgotten how.

“What’s so funny?” he asks again.

“We’re a mess.” Skye doesn’t know why she finds it so funny, but she does.

Fitz smiles, “Yeah, we are,” then he shrugs, “but we’re a mess together.”

“Yeah?” she asks, still giggling.

“Definitely.” She squeezes his hand as hard as she can, and he returns the pressure until they’re both laughing.

Skye has never wanted a brother, but she thinks that she might like having one, and falls asleep with his warm hand in hers.

—————-

The next morning, they sleep in; when they wake up, Fitz makes coffee and Skye goes to get donuts, and they sit on the floor to eat, throwing crumbs and flakes of frosting at each other. She watches Fitz load their bags into the car, standing under the awning of the building to enjoy the last bits of morning coolness before the desert sun steals it away.

"Ready to go?” he asks, coming to stand next to her.

“Come here,” she whispers, and wraps her arms around him when he steps closer, “Thank you for coming along when I needed you.” Maybe it’s alright to need a person or two or five sometimes.

“Thanks for needing me,” he whispers back, “Even if it was just for a week.”

“Oh, Leopold, I’m planning on needing you a lot longer than that. Think Simmons will share you?” she asks, pulling away slightly, and she can tell he’s trying not to smile too widely, “Should we have gotten her a shark tooth friendship necklace too?”

Fitz rolls his eyes, “I think she might be persuaded.”

“To wear a shark tooth friendship necklace?”

“To share me.”

“Good,” she replies, hugging him again, searching out the outline of his necklace beneath his shirt. Skye presses her cheek against it and listens to the thump of his heartbeat.

“Come on, let’s hit the road,” she says, when even the shade next to the building is getting uncomfortably hot, tugging on his hand. He follows her easily.

After they’re on the road, she plugs her iPod into the radio, tired of searching for stations, and pulls up a song. It takes a while before recognition dawns on Fitz’s face. “Told you I’d tell you if you came with me.”

“Thanks,” he says, and then tilts his head, staring at the radio with a frown, “I don’t think this song has a happy ending.”

“You think we need a song with a happy ending?” she asks, and when he nods, she tosses the iPod from her lap to his. He scrolls through, an intense look of concentration on his face until he apparently finds what he wants and returns the iPod to her. When she hears the song he’s picked, Skye smiles and reaches for his hand. Fitz is surprised for a second before he threads his fingers through hers and moves to rest their joined hands on the center console. His free hand pulls his necklace out from underneath his shirt.

“Thanks,” she says again, for more things than one.

“Any time,” he replies, and she’s starting to lose count of his real smiles because they’re becoming more common. She likes that.

The sun drifts higher behind them, and they hold hands and trade songs with happy endings back and forth.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is not great. But whatever. It wasn’t going to leave me alone until I wrote it and so I did. I wanted to get it out before season two, and I’m assuming, unless I get hugely inspired, it will be my last fic published prior to the premiere.
> 
> But yeah, I wrote more road trip fic. Apparently that’s just a thing I do now. I tried for a sparser style than my normal work here, and yet still managed like 2500 words. But my last road trip fic was 18,000+, so maybe this is improvement. Also I suck at endings. I suck bad. But I do love me some platonic hand holding apparently.
> 
> The song that Skye initially quotes and then plays at the end is ‘Fast Car’ by Tracy Chapman, which is infinitely beautiful but as Fitz says does not necessarily have a happy ending. The title of the fic comes from the song Fitz plays at the end, ‘Northern Downpour’ by Panic! at the Disco (if you have never watched a live performance of that song, please do). I’m pretty much entirely blaming the title lyric and my mounting fitzskye feelings for this whole mess.


End file.
